Free Higher Octave (Heavy Influence #2.5) by Ann Marie Frohoff Page B

that.”
    She breathed in deeply as she stared out at
the setting sun. I didn’t think she heard me.
    “It worked out then. I get to walk you home.
I’d planned to walk home, too.” I felt silly about asking her out
again, and blew it off, reminding myself that she’d said she wasn’t
ready to be social, and all this was just a moment with a beautiful
woman.
    The springtime ocean breeze
had a bit of a bite, and I’d wished I’d brought a jacket. Grace’s
fingers stirred against my arm, and I took that thought back. I
wouldn’t have been able to feel the warmth of her hand if I were
wearing a jacket, and that thought brought on a tune in my head
– The warmth of her hand. A melody followed.
    “Grace, what was his name?” I couldn’t help
myself any longer. I had to know.
    She didn’t hesitate. “His name was
Phillip.”
    “How did you two meet?” Her grip loosened on
my arm, and I feared she’d let go. I pressed her hand into my arm.
“We don’t have to go there.”
    She smiled softly, nodding once, and stared
off into the distance. Her smile grew more pronounced, and I
assumed she may have been recollecting perhaps their first meeting
or date. I didn’t expect her to talk about him with each passing
second, so I offered up my intentions.
    “I can’t lie. I do mean to pry.” I
squeezed her hand beneath mine. “I can’t get…that night out of my
mind. You were,” I sighed, “deeply affected.”
    “That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to be
deeply affected anymore. I want to feel something else other than
wretchedness.” She pulled her arm from mine, leaving the spot where
her hand was feeling cold. “You asked. You seemed sincere. Now here
I am,” she quipped.
    “Fair enough.” I smiled down on her, wanting
to put my arm around her.
    “I met Philip in college. We both went to
MIT.”
    Wow. “So you’re a brainiac,” I teased.
    “Pretty much.” She tossed her head back. “I
had big dreams once, and then Phillip dabbled in some things and
ended up becoming a pilot, and I became a graphic designer.”
    “I admit I wondered what you did with
yourself for two years inside that house, other than being a mom,”
I teased, laughing at my next playful thought. “Like, were you
knitting scarfs n’shit.”
    She gasped, covering her mouth. “How did you
know?” Then cutest little giggle bubbled out of her mouth. Her
words reminded me of what her son, Ethan, had said.
    “Ethan had the same exact reaction when I
asked if his shoes were fast.”
    Grace’s eyes sparkled, and she sighed
deeply. “Yeah, he needs to slow down and watch where he’s going. He
tends to run too fast and look back at whoever’s chasing him, and
eats it.”
    I recalled doing the same thing with my dad,
Michael, him tackling me to the ground and tickling me. I did the
math in my head. Ethan was probably just two years old when his dad
died. Way younger than I was. I wondered if he had a man in his
life.
    “What does Ethan do besides preschool and
swim class?”
    Grace looked out over the vast sea of sand
to our left. “We play in the sand.”
    “Not a bad life. I grew up here playing in
that sand, too.”
    More questions were burning in my throat,
and so was my own story. “My dad died too, when I was a kid.” I
just blurted it out like I was talking about the weather, and Grace
stopped and grabbed my arm, alarm glowing in her eyes. She covered
her mouth as her eyes searched mine.
    Shaking her head, she said, “I’m so
sorry.”
    This time I went for it and put my arm
around her shoulders. It spurred her to walking again. “It’s life.
Some of us are just dealt shittier hands than others.”
    Grace was silent.
    “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to sound so
lackadaisical about it. Ethan and I are in the same club. Nothin’
we can do about it.”

9
     
    Grace forgave my insensitivity and what
sounded to her like bitterness in my words (maybe there was) as I
explained a little more about my father, leaving out